April Showers
by abracadabra94
Summary: "Wordlessly, she leaned her little head on his skinny shoulder, letting her tears fall unseen onto his shirt." There's a reason Carly takes showers when she's upset. No shippings.


**Hello. This is just a little one-shot I've been working on for a while. No shippings, just friends and family. And yes, this is very slightly based off of that old episode of Zoey 101, the credit for which also goes to Dan Schneider.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly or Zoey 101. But Woody the wooden Woodchuck is mine.**

_June 10, 2011, 4:26 pm_

Spencer Shay dusted the last bit of sawdust from his sculpture, stood back, and smiled. He'd really outdone himself this time. Before him stood a five-foot tall woodchuck made from a large piece of an even larger tree that Socko's cousin, a lumberjack by the name of Timothy Burr, had given him. Okay, so Tim hadn't so much _given _him the log as he had conveniently looked away while Spencer scooped it up in his arms and fled from the scene, tripping over his feet as he ran back to his apartment with his new treasure. It wasn't stealing though. It was…secret borrowing…and not giving back. Yeah, that's exactly what it was. Besides, it was just a tree. They could always grow another one.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he leaned over to pick up the glass bottle of Peppi Cola sitting on the counter beside his creation. Carefully, he placed the top of the bottle underneath the woodchuck's buck teeth and pulled upward. The bottle cap popped right off.

An enormous grin spread across the lanky artist's face. For once, a sculpture had turned out exactly how he'd wanted it to without any major accidents. True, he did get a few splinters along the way, and using only a tiny hand saw and sand paper did take forever (Carly refused to let him use a chainsaw), but it was all worth it now. He took a celebratory swig of his soda just as his sculpture started smoking. Suddenly, Woody the Woodchuck was ablaze, his toothy grin filled with orange flames.

The next thing Spencer knew, the entire bottom floor of the apartment was covered in Peppi Cola and fire extinguisher foam. He looked around the messy room and sighed. Carly was not going to be happy about this. But at least Woody was alright, other than a few minor burns that could easily be covered up. He'd been wanting to use that new bottle of chartreuse spray paint anyway…

Just then the front door was thrust open, only to be slammed shut a moment later. A dark-haired girl stomped into the room with a nasty scowl on her face, barely even glancing at the mess her brother had created as she made her way toward the stairs.

"Carly?" Spencer said carefully. "Everything alright, Kiddo?"

"Peachy," she replied, though he thought she sounded anything but.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Not really." She walked up two more steps before stopping short and turning around. Her eyes were wild and angry and sad all at the same time. "But could you do me a favor?"

"Sure. Anything."

"If my so-called best friend shows up here, tell her I never want to see her again." And with that she turned and continued up the stairs, stomping the whole way.

"Carly!" he called after her. "Wait! Can't you just…" He trailed off as he heard a small squeaking noise, followed by the sound of water hitting porcelain. It was a sound he was all too familiar with; the sound of the shower being turned on. He sighed and walked over to the couch, plopping himself down on the cushions and running a hand through his hair.

He knew better than to try to make Carly come out of the shower and talk to him. Over the years he had learned that when his sister was taking one of her "upset" showers, she was not to be disturbed. He would just have to wait until Carly felt like talking about it. Besides, whatever it was, Carly and Sam would eventually work it out themselves. They always did.

_It's probably best just to wait for now_, he thought. _And it probably wouldn't hurt to have this place clean by the time she gets back. _He got up from the couch and grabbed a mop, absent-mindedly mopping up the soda-and-foam mixture that was all over the floor. Something about the wetness of the floor, so shiny that he could just barely make out a watery reflection, mixed with the rhythmic _plink plink plink_ing of the shower, triggered a memory. One that he usually kept buried deep in the back of his mind among the other things he didn't want to remember or forget. Seeing Carly so upset a minute before made the memory especially poignant. After all, this was how it all started.

* * *

><p><em>April 13, 2001, 6:49 pm<em>

Spencer had never liked the rain. To be completely honest, he didn't like water, period. Or rather, water didn't like him. Which was strange, because everyone else in the Shay family was perfectly comfortable around what Spencer believed to be a truly irksome substance. His mother and his baby sister seemed to thrive on playing the stuff, while his father spent countless hours confined in cramped submarines, completely submerged in H2O.

As for Spencer, he was clumsy enough as it was. Water only seemed to make things worse, always causing him to slip or spilling all over some painting he was working on and ruining hours of hard work. One time a glass of water actually caught fire while he was drinking it, as if taunting him was reason enough to defy the laws of physics.

Showers were no exception. Sure he liked to be clean, but he still dreaded the daily ritual that would frequently cause him to slip and fall or make him get soap in his eyes. He'd taken to bringing a carton of milk into the shower with him, just to calm him down when the water from the shower would unleash its vengeance. The only good part of showering, besides making him clean, was that it always made him a little moody, which was good when he needed inspiration for his art.

Needless to say, he wasn't too thrilled to be driving all the way from Seattle back home to Yakima in a mid-April rainstorm. But the rain was the least of his worries at the moment. Of course, he was glad to be coming home for a visit, especially since this would be the first time since he'd started college that Col. Shay would be home at the same time as he was. He just wished the circumstances were better.

As he pulled into the driveway of 314 Schneider Street, he caught sight of two figures, one tall and slender and the other quite tiny, dancing around in the front yard like crazy people, holding their arms wide open and sticking out their tongues to embrace the water falling like tears from the sky. The older one laughed, scooping the younger one into her arms and twirling her around. Spencer couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from turning upward just a little at the sight of his little sister giggling.

He took the key out of the ignition and opened the car door, grabbing the black umbrella lying in the passenger's seat beside him and popping it open before exiting the yellow Schmolkswagen Insect.

"Spencer!" his little sister cried when she finally caught sight of him walking towards the front porch, the large umbrella clamped in his hand and a rain jacket pulled tight around his wiry frame. Little Carly jumped out of her mother's arms and ran to her brother as quickly as her tiny six-year-old legs would carry her.

"Spencer Spencer Spencer!" she repeated as she approached. She wrapped her little arms tightly around his legs, thoroughly soaking his jeans.

"Carly Carly Carly!" he said. "You're wet wet wet!"

"Momma and I were playing in the rain."

"I can see that."

"Come on, Spencer," she said, taking his large hand in her smaller one. "Come play with us!"

"Uh, no thanks Carls," he said carefully. "Tell you what though. If you go inside and dry off, maybe Mom will let us play hide and go seek in the house." He glanced up at his mother, raising an eyebrow. She laughed weakly and nodded her head.

"Okay!" Carly ran back into the house.

Susan Shay smiled as she watched her daughter bound up the stairs and disappear into the little white house. She turned her attention back to her son and walked towards him carefully. "Good to see you Spence," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

"Oh look, more wet people," he said, though really he didn't care that much that his clothes were becoming damper by the second. He was much more concerned about the bones he could feel protruding from the woman's way-too-thin frame when she hugged him. "Hey, Mom. How're you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm alright," she said, though not very convincingly. Spencer arched his eyebrow at her again and she sighed. "Okay, so I feel like crap. What else is new?"

"Should you be out here?" he asked, shifting the umbrella so it covered her head too.

"Probably not," she shrugged, and before he could respond, turned on her heel and climbed the steps to the front porch. "You coming?" she asked, pausing at the front door. Spencer nodded curtly and followed her inside, glad to be getting out of the rain.

The inside of the Shay's house was warm, cozy, and inviting. It served as a stark contrast to the grim-faced man sitting at the kitchen table, his arms folded and his posture impeccable.

"Spencer," said the man, standing to greet his son. He extended his hand; the usual greeting.

"'Sup, Daddio?" said Spencer, trying in vain to lighten the mood. He sighed at the clearly not amused look on his father's face. "Hello, Sir," he corrected, taking the colonel's hand and trying not to wince when he was reminded of how strong his father's grip was.

"I'm afraid I can't make anything too exquisite for dinner," said Mrs. Shay, returning to the kitchen in a dry shirt and jeans. "Your father won't let me go grocery shopping anymore, and lord knows he's no good at it," she chuckled, pulling a package of cheddar cheese from the fridge. "How do grilled cheese sandwiches sound?"

"You don't need to be cooking at all," Col. Shay grumbled, but it didn't seem like he was trying very hard. Apparently they'd had this argument before.

"Nonsense," Susan said. "If I let you cook the whole family would starve to death." She sent her son a sideways glance. "That's another thing he's no good at: cooking. The other day he tried to boil an egg and it came out hard as a rock. We couldn't even get the shell off!"

"You know Mom," said Spencer. "I've picked up some minor cooking skills at college. I could cook the grilled cheese sandwiches if you like."

"Oh." She set down the loaf of bread she'd just gotten out of the cupboard. "Well, if you want to. I don't want to trouble you or anything…"

"No trouble," he shrugged. "I've been wanting to show off my cooking skills anyway. I don't know if you've heard, but I make a mean grilled cheese."

Mrs. Shay smiled weakly at her son and stepped aside. With a sigh, she joined her husband at the dinner table while Spencer made dinner, pretending not to notice when the sandwiches briefly caught on fire and Spencer had to beat it out with a dish towel.

Dinner was unusually quiet that night. Not that it wasn't always pretty quiet when Col. Shay was there – his mere presence seemed to demand order and silence – but tonight it was especially silent as the family sat down to eat the grilled cheeses that Spencer had prepared. It was a different kind of quiet too. It wasn't the usual comfortable silence that was frequently penetrated by the two Shay siblings, trying desperately to hold back giggles caused by some secret joke they shared across the table. No, this silence was somber, depressing, uneasy. Only Carly acted like nothing was out of the ordinary, swinging her legs back and forth under the table and looking up at her big brother occasionally as if expecting him to shove something up his nose or make a funny face to make her laugh like he usually did.

"Carly," said Col. Shay when she seemed to be finished with her sandwich. "Why don't you go upstairs and play?"

"Okay," said Carly, hopping down from her chair. "Are you coming Spencer?"

"Um…" Spencer met his father's stern eyes, cold and hard as stone. "I think I'm going to stay down here for a little while."

Carly's face fell. "But what about hide-and-go-seek?"

"I'll be up there in a few minutes. Why don't you go think up a really good place to hide?"

"Okay!" The tiny brunette scrambled up the stairs to her room, thoughts of the perfect hiding place swirling through her head.

"So, Spencer," said his mother when Carly had disappeared upstairs and out of earshot. "How's school? Any thoughts on what you want to do afterwards?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Col. Shay said before Spencer could even open his mouth. "We already know the boy's going to be a lawyer. Aren't you, Son?"

"Actually, I was kind of thinking I might be an artist instead. Or maybe a ninja…"

"An _artist_?" Col. Shay bellowed.

"Or a ninja."

"Spencer, you're a smart boy. You can't just throw your life away on some damn hobby!"

"I wouldn't be throwing my life away! And art isn't a hobby! It's what I've wanted to do since I was little, Dad!"

"You also wanted to grow up to be the fifth Teenage Mutant Kung-Fu Lizard!"

"Oh, so just because I had big dreams-"

"Enough!" Mrs. Shay interrupted their bickering. "Spencer," she sighed warily, "why are you here?"

"W-what do you mean?" Spencer said. "I wanted to visit you guys."

"Yeah? And what about those plans you made to go to the beach with your friends for spring break? You were so excited about meeting Socko's sister, that beach lifeguard girl. What was her name? Sandy?"

Spencer shrugged. "I decided I'd rather come home. Does that have to mean I'm up to something?"

"Spence," she said, "I know you came here because you were worried about me. But I'm fine. Really."

"No, you're not," Col. Shay mumbled. His wife shot him a murderous look.

"Mom," Spencer said quietly, "I hate to say it, but I think I actually agree with Dad for once."

"For once?" Col. Shay asked, but then shook his head. There were more important matters to be discussed at the moment. "Er, right. We think you shouldn't be exerting so much energy right now. It can't be good for you…"

Mrs. Shay laughed slowly, sadly. "Does it really matter?" Her husband and son looked at each other, trying to come up with a response. None came to them. "Look," she said. "I'm not sick with something that will get better if I rest and worse if I don't. I have cancer, and whether we want to admit it or not, lying around in bed like a useless lump isn't going to help anything."

"Getting a cold from playing in the rain too long isn't going to help either," the colonel pointed out.

"Well excuse me for wanting to spend some time with my daughter!" There was a silence after that as everyone hoped that Carly hadn't heard. "Look," she said, much more softly this time, "Carly is a little girl. She doesn't understand what's going on, or why her mom can't play with her as often as she used to. I want to give her all the good memories I can while I still can. Besides, what does it matter if I catch my death of cold or of cancer? It's going to happen either way, and probably soon."

"I still think you should be getting treatment," Spencer said softly. "Chemo or radiation…_something._"

"The only thing those treatments will do is make me last a little longer, and I'd have to spend the rest of my life in a hospital. If you had to choose between a few happy months with your family and a miserable year alone in a hospital bed, what would you do?"

Spencer and the colonel hung their heads. They knew she was right. But that didn't stop them from wishing she was wrong. "I just want you to get better," Spencer said.

"Well I'm not," she said sternly. "Might as well make the most out of the time I have left." She got up and took her plate to the sink. "Thank you for making dinner tonight, Spencer," she said quietly, though after that little speech he was more sure than ever that she would've rather done it herself. "Goodnight." She left the kitchen without another word.

Spencer groaned and buried his head in his hands, tugging at the roots of his hair as though his scalp was responsible for all this. "Three months," he muttered. "They give her three months and she doesn't even seem to care that that was over two and a half months ago." The colonel remained sitting upright, never letting his posture slip or responding to his son's worries.

"You'd better go tend to your sister," he said after several minutes of silence. Without bothering to look at his father, Spencer got up from his chair and walked up the stairs.

"Carly!" he called, trying his best to sound cheerful. "I hope you're hiding, because ready or not, here I come!"

* * *

><p>Spencer had only come home for spring break instead of going to the beach with his friends because he was afraid this might be the last spring break he got to spend with his mother. Now that he was home, he was worried every time he saw her that it might be the last. As the days went by and the end of spring break grew closer, Mrs. Shay was getting worse and worse. The morning after Spencer arrived, she looked paler and sicklier than she ever had before. Her son and her husband no longer had to argue with her about not getting enough rest; by the fourth day of Spencer's visit, she couldn't even get out of bed anymore.<p>

"I'm hanging in there," she would say with a weak smile when they would ask her how she was doing, but they all knew things were looking bad.

His tenth day home was the day that Spencer was to leave. He had come two Fridays before, the moment classes at U. Washington had ended, and he'd stayed as long as he could. Now it was early Sunday afternoon, and he had classes in the morning. He couldn't stay any longer.

He was almost done repacking his suitcase when his door suddenly flew open. His father stood in the door frame, hair disheveled and mouth hung open slightly.

"She's gone," he said, quickly and quietly. Spencer dropped the easel that he'd been trying to fit into his suitcase and stared at his father. In his shocked state, he vaguely wondered if he should hug the man or pat him on the back, but his questions were answered when Col. Shay suddenly exited the room and closed the door behind him, characteristically leaving as quickly as he had come.

The lanky nineteen-year-old let out a deep breath and plopped down onto the bed, running a hand through his hair. He was only sitting down for a minute when he suddenly stood up again and rushed out of the room, hoping that the colonel hadn't yet told Carly the bad news.

He found his father sitting slumped forward in a kitchen chair, his perfect posture finally failing on him as he pulled at his short hair in a way very similar to the way Spencer was always pulling at his these days.

"Dad," he said. The colonel didn't look up. "Dad, have you told Carly yet?"

"Told her?" he said, sounding somewhat dazed. "Carly was there. She's the one who came and got me when she wouldn't answer her…"

"Wait wait wait," said Spencer. "Your six-year-old daughter just witnessed her own mother's death and you left her _alone_?" He never challenged his father like this, but suddenly he found himself unable to control what he was saying.

"I…I…"

Spencer didn't wait for an explanation. He ran up the stairs two at a time before coming to a halt at the light pink door that read "Carly" across the front in purple letters. He knocked lightly. "Carls?" he said gently.

No response.

"Carly? You in there?" He swung the door open. The room was empty, save the furniture, a few crayons, and a half-finished "Get Well Soon" card lying in the middle of the floor. He dashed around the room, pulling back the curtains and looking under the bed as he called out her name, but Carly Shay was nowhere to be found.

He heard the sky rumble and realized that it was raining outside; in all the excitement he hadn't even noticed. He raced back downstairs and found that his father hadn't moved since he'd left him there. "Carly's missing," Spencer grumbled as he passed right by the colonel. He thought he saw his father look up in surprise, but he didn't feel like stopping to make sure. He just walked to the front of the house without breaking his pace, jaw set and brow furrowed.

He wrenched the door open and breathed a sigh of relief. There she was, exactly where he'd suspected, sitting on the bottom porch step as water poured from the sky onto her wet little face. Spencer thought about going back inside for an umbrella, but then thought better of it and joined her on the bottom step, nothing but a thin t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and his beaten up sneakers between him and the rain.

Carly looked up at him and sniffled. Wordlessly, she leaned her little head on his skinny shoulder, letting her tears fall unseen onto his shirt. They stayed that way until it had grown quite dark, and Col. Shay made them come inside for bed.

* * *

><p><em>June 10, 2011, 5:02 pm<em>

Spencer was snapped out of his memories as the door swung violently open for the second time that day. This time, the door flinger had good reason: he was currently tugging a very angry Sam into the apartment, or he was trying at least.

"Let go of me, Benson!" the angry blonde yelled, still resisting his attempts to pull her into the Shay's apartment.

"No!" Freddie Benson, the boy who currently held custody of Sam's right arm, yelled back, surprising everyone including himself with his newfound courage and strength. "You're talking to Carly whether you want to or not!"

"You can't make me!" She struggled against his grip a bit more, but with no effect. "Ugh!" she groaned. "When did you get so strong?"

"Same time the voi–"

"What's going on down here?" Carly said, suddenly emerging at the bottom of the stairs, hair soaking wet and body wrapped in a fluffy pink bathrobe. She caught sight of Sam, who stared back at her menacingly, and started back up the stairs.

"Oh, no you don't," her brother said calmly, dashing up the stairs after his little sister, grabbing her around the waist, and bringing her back into the living room.

"Spencer!" she cried. "Let me down! No! I don't _want_ to go down there! SPENCER!"

Spencer ignored her and set her down gently in front of the blonde girl, holding onto her shoulders in case she tried to make a run for it again. The two girls glared at each other briefly before turning their heads away in disgust.

"Carly," Spencer warned.

"Sam," said Freddie. "We're not letting you two go until you make up."

"That's right," Spencer continued. "You two have to make up. You're best friends!" The girls sneaked another quick glance at each other before looking away again.

"Psh," Sam scoffed. "Not anymore."

"Finally, we agree on something!" Carly huffed.

"What even happened?" Spencer asked.

The girls didn't respond, but Freddie spoke up. "No idea. Sam wouldn't tell me."

"Actually," Sam said slowly, looking at Freddie. "I…I kind of forgot."

"You _forgot_?" Spencer said in disbelief.

"Um," Carly said nervously. "Come to think of it…I don't remember either." The girls looked at each other again, but this time, instead of looking away again, the began to laugh. The boys just looked confused.

"I'm sorry," Carly said quickly.

"Me too." Sam rushed forward and pulled her friend into a big hug.

"Aww," Spencer and Freddie said together. Then Spencer leaned closer.

"Do you know what just happened?" he whispered to the younger boy.

"Not a clue," said Freddie, smiling broadly.

"Um, Spence," Carly said as she pulled out of Sam's embrace. "What happened in here?" She gestured to the fire extinguisher foam and spilled soda Spencer had neglected to finish cleaning up while he was daydreaming.

"Well," Spencer started. "You see…" And with that he made a dash for the stairs.


End file.
